The swallow twitters about the eaves;Blithely she sings, and sweet and clear;Around her climb the woodbine leavesIn a golden atmosphere.
The summer wind sways leaf and spray,That catch and cling to the cool gray wall;The bright sea stretches miles away,And the noon sun shines o'er all.
In the chamber's shadow, quietly,I stand and worship the sky and the leaves,The golden air and the brilliant sea,The swallow at the eaves.
Like a living jewel she sits and sings;Fain would I read her riddle aright,Fain would I know whence her rapture springs,So strong in a thing so slight!
The fine, clear fire of joy that stealsThrough all my spirit at what I seeIn the glimpse my window's space reveals,—That seems no mystery!
But scarce for her joy can she utter her song;Yet she knows not the beauty of skies or seas.Is it bliss of living, so sweet and strong?Is it love, which is more than these?
O happy creature! what stirs thee so?A spark of the gladness of God thou art.Why should we seek to find and to knowThe secret of thy heart?
Before the gates of his mysteryTrembling we knock with an eager hand;Silent behind them waiteth He;Not yet may we understand.
But thrilling throughout the universeThrobs the pulse of his mighty will,Till we gain the knowledge of joy or curseIn the choice of good or ill.
He looks from the eyes of the little child.And searches souls with their gaze so clear;To the heart some agony makes wildHe whispers, "I am here."
He smiles in the face of every flower;In the swallow's twitter of sweet contentHe speaks, and we follow through every hourThe way his deep thought went.
Here should be courage and hope and faith;Nought has escaped the trace of his hand;And a voice in the heart of his silence saith,One day we shall understand.
